


Slayer in Verbal Heat

by therealfroggy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles, Buffy and a little poetry. Sexy poetry. The kind a Watcher might not be supposed to read to his Slayer.</p><p>(Buffy is a senior in this; no minors here, if that's not your thing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slayer in Verbal Heat

Giles walked slowly through the stacks, running his fingers along the spines of books, old and new. They felt familiar, welcoming under his hands. He was letting himself relax, taking a rare break from his near continual reading, and the peace and quiet of the library helped calm his mind enough for the next bout of research. He had put on one of his dustiest records, Glenn Gould performing the Goldberg Variations, and perfect tranquillity was near at hand.

The door to the library opened; Giles could hear it squeak. Quick, light footsteps bore the intruder across the linoleum, and the sound of something being dumped unceremoniously on a surface left the Watcher no doubt that it would be either Buffy or one of her cohorts. He tilted his head slowly to one side until his neck gave a satisfying _pop_ , and retraced his steps back out towards the reference desk.

“Giles?”

Ah, Buffy. His Slayer. His lovely, blossoming young Slayer. Though, at her age many Slayers were already dead – killed in the line of duty – so he supposed calling her young was a subjective judgement. In their world, she was encouragingly less young than her mother and other teachers would believe.

Giles looked out between two shelves before stepping out, taking a moment to himself to watch her uninterrupted. She was wearing one of those outrageously short tops, leaving her midriff bare, her golden, sun-kissed skin drawing his eyes like a flame. Her short skirt was similarly outrageous; how she could show so much leg and not feel self-conscious at all was beyond him.

But it was just that honest confidence that made him yearn for her. That made every boy look as she walked down the hallway, despite her reputation and the ridiculous social hierarchies that people her age created for themselves. She stood tall, fiery and impatient and dressed like a modern Amazon, and waited for him to appear.

Clearing his throat gently, Giles emerged from between the shelves. “Buffy. Good afternoon. Did you need anything?”

“Actually, I need your secret superpower today,” Buffy said, looking up at him with a hopeful expression as he descended the stairs. “Your librarian skills.”

Giles let the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile. “My librarian skills. Something to do with school, I suppose?”

Buffy commenced moaning about her assignment for English literature; a regular diatribe. She got through quite a bit of it before Giles could even begin to suggest something helpful.

“And the poem has to be older than a hundred years, and it has to be by a minority background author, and I have to pretend like I care or Mrs. Henton will give me a bad grade!” she railed.

There was a time in his life when Giles would have scoffed at the immaturity of his young Slayer. But the longer he knew her, the more he found himself smiling indulgently at the way her youth blended so seamlessly with the world of responsibility she bore. A female Atlas, worrying in equal measure over how her hair looked and how she was going to survive the next month. Giles found it appealing beyond reason.

“And you have no preferences?” Giles asked her, holding up a hand for silence. “No ideas of what you'd like to read?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe something romantic?” Buffy said with a shrug. “That wouldn't be too bad. But did black women write much poetry, a hundred years ago?”

Giles chuckled. “A minority group writer, I see what you mean. An argument could be made that _all_ women were a minority group until fairly recently, socially and politically speaking. I believe anything not written by white men of the middle and upper classes would qualify for this particular assignment. Would you consider a woman writer of the Victorian period?”

Buffy held her hands out to the side, helpless. “Anything, Giles. Save the day.”

Giles went to the poetry shelves – there were precious few, of course – and came back with a slim volume. “Here. You might browse through it if you like, but I believe the poem on page fifty-seven would suit your needs.”

Buffy grabbed at the book as if at a lifeline. “Fantastic, thanks! And you're sure it's fine with a woman writer?”

“Well, there is some dispute,” Giles said mildly. “However, should Mrs. Henton disapprove, you could argue that the poetess in question had some rather Sapphic leanings. That surely constitutes a minority.”

Buffy stared at him blankly, and Giles smiled down at her.

“One wonders if she was a lesbian. This particular poem is certainly suggestive of certain, well, womanly pursuits,” he explained.

Buffy frowned. “Were people lesbians back then?”

Giles laughed outright at that. “I dare say they were much the same as they are today, albeit with different terminology. But a rose by any other name...”

Buffy shrugged happily and stuffed the book into her bag. “Cool. See ya, Giles! Thanks!”

And in a whirl of blonde hair and walking sunshine, she was gone.

Giles drew a deep breath and stood basking in her recent presence for a moment. His Slayer was simply delicious. She did not know it, but her Watcher had long since stopped trying to keep her out of his late-night fantasies. And Giles had to admit, he was curious to find out how she would react to the sexual subtext in _Goblin Market_. He might enjoy watching her blush.

***

“Giles?”

The Watcher smiled to himself and raised his head from where he had been poring over some translations. Buffy was once more brightening his doorstep. The bare stomach of the previous day was now covered up, but the little sundress she wore today was hardly more modest. Giles did not even pretend to disapprove.

“Here, as always. I trust you will be ready for our training session later this afternoon?”

“Sure, sure, but this is about English class again. That poem. Which one did you mean?” Buffy demanded, waving aside his concerns for her slaying. “On page fifty-seven?”

“There is only one poem beginning on page fifty-seven,” Giles said patiently. “ _Goblin Market_ , yes?”

“So you _did_ mean that. Are you sure?” Buffy pressed. “Because Mrs. Henton said it was fine, but now I'm supposed to write this essay about it, and I don't see it.”

“Don't see what, exactly?” Giles inquired, getting to his feet.

“The lesbianism!” Buffy sank into the chair by his desk and reached into her bag. She handed him the book. “Or the sex. Are you sure there's sex in here? Because that would be a real anti-suck, but I can't find it.”

Giles tried very, very hard not to react to her tempting mouth articulating the word _suck_ with such emphasis. He took the book from her, letting their fingers brush ever so slightly as he did so. He had never claimed to be a good man, only a decent one, and he shamelessly took what he could get.

“Perhaps you were reading it wrong,” Giles suggested, thumbing gently through the worn pages until he found the poem under discussion.

Buffy snorted. “There's no right or wrong way to read a poem,” she stated confidently.

“True, but there are different ways, and your way is possibly too... innocent,” Giles said, aware that he was toeing a fine line with his Slayer. He let the name Ripper surface briefly in his mind and ploughed on. “But it is perhaps too difficult, even now that you are a senior.”

Buffy's eyes flashed. “Fine. How do _you_ read it, then, Captain Poetry?”

If there was a hell – and Giles knew for a fact there was – then the mere contemplation of what he was about to do would surely earn him a place in it. He cleared his throat and read.

“She never tasted such before,  
How should it cloy with length of use?  
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more  
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;  
She sucked until her lips were sore.”

Pausing, he lowered the book a little to look at Buffy. Her eyes were wide, her mouth ever so slightly open. Giles felt fire course through his veins in dull throbs. He cocked his head to one side and smiled ever so slightly.

“That passage is a little coarse. Let's see, what about this one? This is where the goblins are trying to make Lizzie eat of their fruit.

“Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,  
Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,  
Twisted her hair out by the roots,  
Stamped upon her tender feet,  
Held her hands and squeezed their fruits  
Against her mouth to make her eat.

“A rape, you see. Not pleasant imagery at all,” Giles said, softly, walking slowly behind her as he read. “But evocative.”

Buffy seemed to draw in a deep breath. “Wow. I didn't know you could read poetry.”

Giles watched her, saw her shoulders rise with her shallow breaths. He circled around, coming to stand on the other side of the desk from her. “Do you see? This poem is quite... sexual.”

“I think I should have one more example,” Buffy said, looking right into his eyes. Hers were darker, more open, than he had ever seen them. She licked her lips hurriedly. “Always need at least three points to make an argument, Mrs. Henton says.”

Giles smirked. The girl was playing with fire and he admired her for it. “This, then. In this passage the sisterly love – if that is what it is – comes to... fruition. Lizzy has come back from the goblin encounter, has made the sacrifice, and Laura will be saved.

“She cried ´Laura`, up the garden,  
´Did you miss me?  
Come and kiss me.  
Never mind my bruises,  
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices...”

He paused, raising his eyes to look directly into Buffy's as he quoted the next part from memory.

“Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,  
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.  
Eat me, drink me, love me;  
Laura, make much of me:  
For your sake I have braved the glen  
And had to do with goblin merchant men.`”

Buffy's breath was loud and quick as he finished reading and put down the book. With an arched eyebrow, Giles slid the volume slowly across the desk to his Slayer and remained bent forwards. Their gazes remained locked.

“Do you hear the sensuality of it?” Giles murmured with a small smile. “Do you have an idea on what to write in your essay?”

“Yes,” Buffy breathed, and her eyes were still so dark, so deep as she looked at him as if she had never seen him before. “Giles...”

Giles strode slowly around the desk, around Buffy, until he was standing right behind her. He leaned over her and reached for the book on the desk, drawing it towards them with two fingers on the cover. He opened it, still leaning over her shoulder, feeling her shuddering against his side, and turned pages until he found the poem.

“This passage here...” he said, pointing to the text, “the last stanza, is sometimes read as a disavowal of the entire poem. Heteronormativity prevails. But what of the goblin men? The forbidden fruit?”

Giles leaned down until his head was level with Buffy's, and said softly, “They have tasted it. Laura has licked, kissed the poison off Lizzie's skin. Is it male influence they are getting rid of? Is it sexual pleasure? Is it women's liberation, or a biblical allusion?”

“Uh,” Buffy contributed. She turned her head slowly, and Giles did the same, until their lips were inches apart.

“These are a handful of examples from the critical discourse on this poem,” Giles said, glancing at her mouth. Still so tempting. “You must choose your own interpretation.”

“Sex,” Buffy whispered, leaning almost imperceptibly closer.

Giles did not move an inch. He needed her to take this last step, to break the barrier. He may not be a good man, but he was decent. And not a fool. He needed her to be in control of her own actions if he was to allow himself this.

“Not just sex, Buffy. Sensuality. Pleasure. Forbidden indulgence. _Desire._ ”

With a whimper, Buffy surged forwards and pressed their lips together. Giles sighed, a long sound of pent-up yearning, and tilted his head ever so slightly to the right, making it easier to move his lips against hers. They were soft, yielding, almost hesitant under his own. Her smaller mouth was melding trustingly to his. He leaned on the back and arm of the chair.

“Buffy,” Giles whispered, their lips still touching as he spoke. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” she panted, but she was trembling between his arms.

“No, Buffy, you don't have to say that,” he said with a warm smile, nuzzling gently along her jaw. She smelled divine, like strawberry bath gel and fresh linen. “I will never desert you, in any capacity, regardless of how you feel about this. But I want you to have what you want. I'll give you anything, Buffy, anything you want. So you must decide.”

“Giles?” Buffy murmured, looking up at him with new confidence in her eyes. “Throw me on the desk and show me what the poem is about.”

Giles laughed softly. “Oh, I will, dear girl, but you see, there is no lock on the outer door. So you shall have to be quiet. Very quiet.”

Buffy tossed her hair rebelliously. “I don't scream.”

“How would you know?” Giles asked with a purr, kissing her neck. “You've never been made much of, have you?”

“What does that even mean?” Buffy demanded, laughing a little now. “Desk, Giles. Seriously.”

Giles leaned down enough to get his hands underneath her, then picked her up, hefting her in his arms, properly feeling the magnificent frame of his Slayer in his arms for the first time. “As you wish.”

He put her down on the desk, then swept pencils and note paper out from under her so she could lay back. “I would like nothing better than to see and kiss every inch of skin on your body, but there isn't time. For now, I'll content myself with the very sweetest part.”

Buffy grinned at him, but he grabbed her hips and pulled her towards the edge so her bum was barely on the desk. She squeaked in surprise. When Giles got to his knees on the floor, she pushed up on her elbows with a small frown.

“But I thought...”

“The poem, love,” Giles said with a smirk. “I am about to show you what the poem is about.”

He pushed her dress up, looking her in the eyes, and she blushed and averted her eyes, but said nothing. Giles ran his hands up her thighs, trying to hold back a groan at the feeling of her smooth skin under his fingers, until he was nearing her underwear.

“Never mind my bruises,” Giles quoted as he slowly hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties. “Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices.” He pulled the fabric off and down, and put a hand on each of her knees to spread her wide.

Buffy whimpered, and at first resisted the push, but when Giles began kissing her thigh she relented. The Watcher drew in a deep breath, catching the faintest whiff of her scent, and he groaned then. Bending his head, he nuzzled his way up her inner thigh to let her adjust to the feeling of his mouth on her. When he felt heat and dampness against his cheek, he turned his head and licked once, slowly, through her folds.

“Oh,” Buffy gasped, her hips bucking against his face. “Oh, I didn't... know...”

“There are many things I'd like to show you,” Giles said, punctuating himself with a little kiss to her clit. She squealed, a sound he had never heard from her before. “But this is what the poem is about.”

And he licked her, kissed her, thrust his tongue against her until she was squirming. She gasped, her breath sounded muffled, and Giles looked up to find she was biting her own hand to keep quiet. Her legs were twitching, and her back was arched until it looked almost uncomfortable.

“Put your feet on my shoulders,” Giles said, taking her bare ankles to place her sandalled feet to either side of his neck. With her legs pressing down on him, and his fingers opening her, she could get leverage and she ground her hips against his face. She was hot and throbbing; Giles could feel it through the tender skin he was suckling at.

“Buffy,” he murmured, then sucked hard on her clit. She did cry out then, but quickly muted the sound with her hand.

“Buffy, you taste so good, so sweet. This fruit is life itself.”

When he finally dared slide a finger inside her, she clenched down on it so hard he felt her inner walls pulse around him. She shook with sensation, and he applied his tongue even more intently to her sensitive nub. She began muttering, pushing back harder.

“Give in, sweet,” he growled at her, replacing his tongue with his thumb, stroking her in hard, circular movements. “Let me have it, let me suck your juices, let me taste you when you come.”

Buffy wailed, a soft, long sound in her throat, as he kept stroking her, kept licking. Her shudders became erratic. He could feel her body tumbling, stuttering towards an end. Giles nipped hard at her thigh as he felt her begin to convulse, and then she was coming, her back arching, her internal walls squeezing around his fingers. He lapped at her wetness, groaning into her flesh as he brought her over the edge, tasting her need and her climax in the sticky bittersweet nectar he found between her legs.

The only sound she made as she reached orgasm was a mewling sigh, caressing his name.

Giles forced himself to stop, lifted his head from her hot core with a groan of regret. He wanted to plunge inside her, thrust there until he joined her in climax, fill her with his flesh and his seed and make her his. But so far he had only given to Buffy, not taken anything from her. He would never do that until she wanted it, and wanted it without him reading her into heat first.

Slowly licking the wetness from her thighs, Giles retreated until he was sat back on his heels. Then he got to his feet and looked down at her, smiling at the beautiful sight she presented. Her eyes were wide open still, pupils dilated with pleasure, and her mouth was red and a little open. She was panting. There was a tooth mark on her bottom lip where she had bitten it against the sounds she was making.

“Buffy?” Giles said, leaning over her and gently stroking a hand down the side of her face. “Are you all right?”

She sighed deeply and put one of her smaller hands over his. When their eyes met, she was smiling, looking a little overwhelmed. “Wow, Giles.”

“Oh, here, let me,” Giles said, bending to retrieve her underwear from the floor. He slid it up her legs, then helped her up so he could pull it gently up around her derrière and let the hem of her dress back down. She was a little unsteady on her feet and Giles remained close, letting her lean on him if she wanted to.

“Giles,” she said again, sounding as cloud-bound as he felt. “Wow. Was that... What was that?”

“A little pleasure,” Giles said, smiling down at her. He could not bring himself to stop touching her, letting his hand linger in her hair, his fingers trail down her neck. “Which you deserve.”

“Well, that is true,” she acknowledged smugly. “Is that, like, an optional extra Watcher service?”

Giles cleared his throat gently. “Ah, well, not quite. I'm afraid this was more along the lines of proof of how much I care for you. My life, of course, is yours to command as your Watcher. As a man, my body is equally at your disposal, but that is entirely your own fault for being you.”

Buffy giggled. “So will you do anything I want now?”

“I could never say no to you,” Giles countered, dipping his head to kiss her throat gently. “In that respect, nothing has changed. But know that I will never presume. If you ever want my... optional extras, then I am at your beck and call.”

Buffy lit up like a Christmas tree, and Giles could not stop himself smiling. “Really?”

“But you must make the call,” Giles insisted, pulling away from her to look her in the eyes. “You understand me? I could never take anything from you. It must be at your call.”

Buffy bit her lip, smiling slyly up at him. “Anytime I want? Anything I want?”

“Anything,” Giles confirmed.

“So if I wanted to suck _your_ juices...” she said slowly, sliding her hands around his waist.

Giles groaned again. “Oh, Buffy, don't even say it. I can't bear to hear you utter those words, you can't know what they do to me.”

“I think I know,” she whispered, her small hand cupping him through his trousers.

“Buffy? Giles?”

They tore apart at the sound of Willow's voice. Buffy patted down her hair quickly and left the office, and Giles could hear her greet her friends in the library. Giles wiped his face quickly on his handkerchief, wetting it from a water bottle to make sure no trace of their tryst would be apparent on him. When he had taken two or three deep, calming breaths, he followed Buffy out of the office, a few large books held strategically in front of his groin.

“Willow, Xander, good afternoon,” he greeted, and sat down at the desk.

“They were just looking for me, we have class and I'm making us late,” Buffy said, her cheeks still ruddy and her eyes still sparkling. “So I'll come by after school for training, okay?” she said, then winked at him and followed her friends out of the room.

“Right,” he said into the empty room, smiling slightly to himself. “Training. Quite.”

Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it was high time he did some taking.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem is "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti, written in 1859. I've quoted here from the poem as it appeares in _Victorian Poetry: An Annotated Anthology_ (ed. Francis O'Gorman). In case you want a book with heaps and heaps of amazing poems ^^


End file.
